


Betrayal

by charvill1981



Category: The X-Files, The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008)
Genre: F/M, IWTB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:50:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5358218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charvill1981/pseuds/charvill1981
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The FBI threw them together 16 years before to destroy him. Now, after helping them solve a case six years since they'd fled for their lives, the Bureau may finally achieve its goal. </p><p>(Missing scenes fic from IWTB.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this 7 years ago (2008), coming across it while I scoured my old LJ account. Wow....so much has changed since then, and yet, so many things are still the same. I blame Chris Carter. 
> 
> WARNING: Parts of this are definitely NSFW.

"I don't know what else to do."

My eyes felt as if they would burst into flame as the tears burned, but I kept them open and focused my intensity on him--into him. I had to convey how strongly I felt. He had to understand. We had been in this too long together, and I had lost him too many damn times.

After over 5 years, I was working on something now with as much determination as I had before I lost them. He had to understand. Please understand, Mulder. I can't do this again. Not now. Not when I can't give you all of me. 

Mulder shifted impatiently, looking everywhere but me. He was pissed. A bull in a china closet and I was standing in the path of destruction. It was a look I'd seen so many times before. But it had been years since I'd had to fight against him, and I just did not have it in me. That fire had burnt out, a new flame taking its place; not quite as brilliant or hot, but enough to keep the stove going.

10 years ago, he had stood before me just like this, begging me to help him. Begging me not to leave.

But this is different. This is me begging him not to make me leave; to continue in the isolated, safe haven where we can grow old together--or at least until the world comes crashing down around our ankles in a few years. He's a free man now. There is so much we can do...how could he even think about rejoining the FBI in a quest like this let alone expect me to drop all the work I've been doing--and shedding tears over-- to help those bastards?

Nearly 16 years ago, the FBI assigned me as Fox Mulder's partner. To debunk his work. Now, they used me again only this time instead of bringing us together, it is tearing us apart. That's what I'm fighting for, Mulder. You and me.

I could feel the war of emotions emanating from within his body, charging the air. And finally, he spoke. "Well...good luck then." 

"You, too," I replied, but he was already gone. The doors swung shut and the silence that followed was deafening. I could still feel the soft fabric of his wool coat brushing against my skin as he pushed past me--a sharp contrast to the hard mask that was his face that final moment.

And for the first time in almost 6 years, I did not allow myself to cry. I took a deep breath, clenched my fists, and choked back the tears. If he could put work first, then so could I.

***  
"Is this Dana Scully?" came the voice from my office phone.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"Yes, m'am. We found a car that we think belongs to you, given the license plate number."

My heart began to race as the blood drained from my face. It was the call I'd been dreading since I heard Mulder's voicemail pick up earlier.

"M'am? Does that sound right? There has been substantial damage to the car and we wanted to make sure that there was no chance of injured passengers."

Injured passengers, injured passengers, injured passengers.

"Miss..." I heard the crinkling of paper and I could tell he was looking at my personal information. "Dr. Scully?"

"Yes," I took a breath to compose myself and gather my thoughts. "Um, my..." And, I was at a loss. How did I describe who could have been driving my car? Husband was probably the closest thing to the truth, but definitely not in the legal sense. Partner? Close, but today if you described someone that way you were either a homosexual or a cop. Boyfriend? I shuddered at the thought. Friend? Oh, fuck it. "My roommate borrowed the car for the evening. Did something happen? Should I be worried?" Please say no, please say no, please say no.

"Well, I can't say for sure." FUCK! "We need you to come down to the scene if at all possible." And, in less than two minutes, I was on the phone with Skinner who was now racing to pick me up. 

How could he do this? Was it that important? Is he trying to prove a point? Mulder, I swear that when I find you (and I WILL find you), if you're not hurt (oh God, oh God...) you will be when I get through with you. 

Who did he think he was? "It's why we can't be together." He always accused me of being dramatic, but what kind of bullshit line was that? He was using it as an excuse to go on a wild goose chase. If he says he knows he's bad or dangerous, then he can do so without the added guilt. Stupid, Oxford psychology bullshit.

And, now, just as I predicted, I am out here trying not to get sick as I watch his car being towed up the side of a cliff--though, I breathe a little easier when I realize there is no body. My knees buckle a little at the thought and I catch myself on the guard rail. I see someone with authority and I explain who I am and demand answers.

And then I see him getting out of the car that brought us here. Skinner. My eyes tear up, not just because of my fondness for a man who has always dropped everything to stick his neck out for a couple of former rebels but because my subconscious equates his presence with bad news. I follow him blindly into his SUV as he tries to pacify me with words. 

My mind races back over the past few days, and how it all got out of hand so fast. If this was a year ago, and I hadn't been working so closely with the Fearons I might have relented and helped Mulder--maybe we would have solved it faster. One thing I knew for sure is that I would not have let him out of my sight. 

STUPID! Skinner said Mulder would never have done anything crazy. Goddamnit Dana, you worked with the man for a decade and yet you forgot that when he starts something he is not satisfied until either the perp is caught or he is hospitalized for his pursuit. The tears were building, and my breathing was getting more shallow. This is all my fault. I shouldn't have let him go alone.

I thought of all the times I had had to chase after him like this, praying that I would find him well enough to curse him for leaving me behind again. And, again. And, again. Then, I thought of that night in Roswell when we swore to each other (the way other couples do in their marriage vows) that we would forever be honest and truthful and, above all, never leave each other again. As the snowy landscape became an unseen grey blob created by my tears, I envisioned Mulder's face standing in that hallway as I reminded him that I loved him--loved everything about him. The last time I saw him...What if?

Snap out of it, Dana! I remembered that I was in the car with Skinner and shook the cobwebs from my head. And then, out of the darkness, I saw the light--in the form of a mailbox. "Wait a minute, back up!"

 

Twelve hours later, I was sitting in the same plastic chair I had molded myself to since the nurse had wheeled him back in from being X-rayed. I looked at his face and the wires around him, trying desperately not to get emotional as my mind recalled the last time I had seen him like this. Part of me wanted to walk out of this room right now and have him wake up alone. The way he said it should be, when we last spoke. The way I felt when he walked away. 

But then, I heard the blip of his heart monitor and the relief that he was still alive flooded my senses--even if his new freedom meant he could free himself of me.

"Scully?" The raspy bass of his voice sent tiny shivers down my spine. "What's happened? Why are you crying?"

I hadn't even noticed the warm rivulets racing down my cheeks to collect on the collar of my ruined silk blouse. "It's nothing," I said, shaking my head as I struggled to collect myself.

He looked me over, his eyes in detective mode, and I knew it was time for me to leave.

I stood, body swaying as the blood rushed to my head reminding my forty-plus year-old body that I had been sitting for too long. Picking up my things from the cabinet next to his bed, I felt his eyes on me the entire time. Looking down at the floor, I mumbled, "I have to do a few things before my shift starts in an hour."

"Scully." His hand reached out and grabbed the hem of my coat before pulling me closer. Staying silent, but not letting go, he forced me to look at him. "I..."

My eyebrow raised in silent question. What could he possibly say now to heal the scar tissue that was my heart? 

"I just wanted...to say thank you."

Ah. So that's it then. I nodded, still never making eye contact--for that would be my undoing--and made like I was holding his hand, but I was merely removing it from my coat so he no longer had a hold on me. Then I walked out the door, keeping the tears in check until I was under the hot flow of water the locker room showers provided.

That night when I got home (well after eleven), I found him sleeping on the leather couch, which we salvaged from his old apartment, under a blanket in the den. He had been released at 3:30 that afternoon (which I found out from the nurse when I went to check on him) and took a cab home. Hearing the telltale sound of his snore, I removed my shoes and padded silently to sit on the edge of the coffee table to watch him sleep. Thirty minutes later, when I had convinced myself that he was still real and alive--though not mine any longer--I trudged up the stairs to our bedroom and fell asleep.

It was about 12:30 when I was awakened by movement beside me in bed. Panicked, I sat up and turned quickly to reach for the gun I still kept in my nightstand. 

The intruder grabbed my arm and pinned me down with his body. "It's okay, Scully. It's just me." 

I could hear the pulse pounding in my ears. "Mulder? What are you doing? I could have killed you!"

He chuckled. "I seriously doubt that, Doc."

The husky tone in his voice mixed with the way his body was pressed against mine, and I was suddenly grateful for the pitch black conditions. "I asked you a question. What are--" My words were silenced by his tongue forcing itself inside my mouth.

His hands gently roamed over my body, exploring and searching as though they had never touched me before. "I saw you watching me," he managed to whisper in between kisses. 

"What?" My mind was a haze of hormones and questions. 

"God, you're beautiful." Mulder was sliding his lips down my neck now, over to the strap of my camisole where his hand met him and pushed the piece of clothing out of his way. He did the same to the other side before pulling it down further to expose my breasts. I gasped when the cold air hardened my nipples before his warm mouth descended upon them.

I clutched the back of his head with both hands, my fingers brushing through his hair furiously. "Stop, Mulder," I sighed. He continued as though he had not heard me. "Mulder, stop!"

"Why?" he asked, his hands moving down to my waistband, tugging. 

"No!" I yelled, trying to squirm from beneath him but failing (despite the fact that he had been paralyzed less than 24 hours ago, he was so much stronger than me) as he pressed his full weight upon me, pulled my hands from where they pushed on his chest, and pinned them above my head. My eyes went wide in shock. Why was he doing this?

"Why are you doing this, Scully?"

I was overcome with anger and resentment towards his seemingly short-term, or convenient, memory. "Am I just a good fuck for you now, Mulder?" His upper torso pulled back as though he'd been shocked. "Or, has it been so long since you've been alone that you forgot how to work the VCR?" I heard the words come from my mouth and it was as if someone else had said them. Never had I spoken this way to him before.

The silhouette of his head tilted slightly and then he leaned back over me, gripping my arms once again but with less force. "Am I alone, Scully?" His hot breath and the hardness I could feel pressing against my thigh sent waves of pleasure through my body. I wanted so badly to hurt him; to remind him that he was the one who walked away this time. "You came home tonight." He nuzzled his nose up and down my throat, planting tiny kisses there. "I thought you'd forgiven me."

My brow wrinkled in confusion and I pulled one arm from his grasp to force him to look me in the eye--even if the room was dark. "Forgiven you for what?" 

"For going out on my own."

Oh. That. "Mulder, I-I can't really think about that right now. I'm just glad it turned out okay." 

I gasped as his hips, as if in response to my words, began moving rhythmically against mine and he again covered my mouth with his. When he finally freed my lips to move again to my pants, I found my voice. "This has to stop."

"Scu-lly," he whined. "I thought we'd gotten past that."

"What the hell are you talking about? What's there to get past? You said we can't be together, and now your jumping my bones like a horny teenager. Did the crash knock that little bit of information from your memory?"

He looked at me and I could feel his eyes blazing with fury. "You know it didn't," he said through gritted teeth. 

"And what about today? Checking out without letting me know?" 

"I didn't want to bother you while you were working." He was sitting up now, rubbing his face wearily.

"I sat in a hospital room for over ten hours, watching you breathe and listening to your heart beat...and you thought I wouldn't care to know that you'd been allowed to go home?" 

"What do you want me to say, Scully? That I'm sorry?"

I stood up, grabbing my robe and tying it tightly around my body. The way he spoke to me made me feel more than vulnerable and I needed more protection than the thin cotton of my tank top and shorts could give. I heard him gasp as I walked towards the bathroom.

"I am!" He grabbed my sleeve and pulled me into a tight embrace. "Scully..." I could feel his stubble burning my scalp as he clutched me like I was the only thing keeping him from falling through the floor. "Please."

My emotions for this man who was my whole life took over and I rubbed my hands up and down his back soothingly. "It's okay, Mulder. I'm just going to wash my face and then I'll join you in bed. Okay?"

He let go of me after a few seconds and I watched as he walked over to his side and pulled back the covers before getting underneath. Looking in the mirror, I didn't know what was going to happen with us now--but I could sense a crossroads. My only hope was that, whatever the path, we'd be taking it together.


End file.
